Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy)
Read Dreamer (Highland Treasure Trilogy) Online
Authors: May McGoldrick,Nicole Cody,Jan Coffey,Nikoo McGoldrick,James McGoldrick
DREAMER
Book one of
Highland Treasure
Trilogy
May McGoldrick
ISBN
0451197186
Copyright © 2010 by Nikoo K. and James A. McGoldrick
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the
reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any
electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented,
including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage
or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the
publisher: May McGoldrick Books, PO Box 665, Watertown, CT 06795.www.JanCoffey.com
First Published by NAL, an imprint of Dutton Signet,
a division of Penguin Books, USA, Inc.
For Carla Patton--writer, doctor, and friend
May your dreams
come true…
Jervaulx
Abbey in Yorkshire, England
August
1535
“They’ve fled!”
Arthur Courtenay, the king’s Deputy
Lieutenant in Yorkshire, angrily spurred his steed past the flaring torches
until the giant animal was snorting and tossing his head not a half pace away
from the faces of the cowering servants and villagers.
“Where have they gone?” His voice
rasped with barely controlled fury. “When?”
“These fools have all swallowed
their tongues, m’lord.”
Sir Arthur drew his sword, and the
shoving throng fell away as he nudged the animal forward to the very steps of
the abbey’s chapter house.
“Drag the abbot out,” he shouted. “And the monks, as well. Every fat, cowardly one of them. I’ll stick their treasonous heads on
pikes if they do not come up with answers.”
“M’lord!” The sound of one of the
soldiers, calling as he ran from the small churchyard, drew the Deputy
Lieutenant’s head around. “M’lord, ‘tis true. There is freshly packed earth
behind the large crypt.”
“What are you waiting for?”
Courtenay wheeled the warhorse, forcing the fearful onlookers back even farther.
“Start digging. And clear the yard of this rabble.”
Riding into the graveyard, the
Deputy Lieutenant dismounted in front of the crypt, a stone chapel-like
edifice, and threw the reins at a soldier standing nearby. Wordlessly, Sir
Arthur stalked around the building, but stopped and whirled when a cloaked
figure reached out of the shadows for him. He knew the man.
“You sent word too late, monk!”
Courtenay rasped.
“Three prizes have escaped us, but
the treasure has not.”
“‘Tis here? Are you certain?”
“I saw the three sisters dragging
the chest down here after the sun set. They must have dug that hole earlier,
though, for all they did was place the chest in there and cover it.”
Sir Arthur peered at the two men
digging out the loose soil, as another stood over them with a torch. Their
faces glistened with sweat and dirt.
“You told me that you’ve searched
their belongings many times these past months. You told me that none of them
could be hiding anything.”
“We did search!” The man pulled the
hood of his dark cloak farther forward on his face as one of the English
soldiers walked past them. “But yesterday, two messengers arrived. The first
brought news that their father, Edmund Percy, is dead in the Tower.”
“Aye, and that treacherous Thomas
More will be next,” Sir Arthur spat. “His head will soon adorn London Bridge, as well. But what of it?”
“We expected
you
to bring
the news of their father’s death and a warrant for their arrest at the same
time.”
“I had to wait for the Lord
Chancellor to issue the warrant, and then,” he angrily scuffed at the dirt
beneath his boots, “never mind all of that. You failed to send me the message
in time, and that displeases me. But what of this second messenger?”
“The second one came from Nichola
Percy, the mother.”
“Do you believe she is nearby?”
The hooded man shook his head.
“From what I’ve been able to glean from the abbot and the servants, she remains
in hiding in the Borders, north of the Tweed. But as you thought, she has
remained true to her daughters. In fact, she must have sent help, as well, for
their escape.”
“And you think the messenger
brought the treasure?” Courtenay’s question received only silence for an
answer. “But it makes no sense for her to effect their escape, and yet still
send them--”
A cry of discovery brought both
men’s heads around.
“‘Tis here! We’ve hit it, m’lord.”
“Bring it out!”
The Deputy Lieutenant strode
hurriedly to the side of the open grave, but the hooded man only moved as far
as the shadows would allow.
The wooden chest was lifted out of
the hole. Leaning over the dirt-covered box, Sir Arthur motioned to one of the
soldiers to break the latch with the end of his halberd. With a single blow,
the deed was done, and Courtenay pushed forward toward the unopened box. The
anticipation was obvious in every face, and even the hooded man now stepped out
of the shadows.
The Deputy Lieutenant crouched and
pushed open the lid. Every man leaped back, scattering to a safe distant.
Every man, that is, but the hooded
figure who, stepping past Sir Arthur, reached into the chest and picked up the
squirming, hissing snake.
“What the devil?” Courtenay cried
out angrily.
The cloaked man threw the snake
back into the grave. “Catherine Percy, the eldest of the three, has an odd
sense of humor...and no fear of adders.”
“So this is it?” Sir Arthur barked.
“This is to be our treasure?”
The man reached into the box again
and picked out a rolled parchment. Opening it, he looked up and met the Deputy
Lieutenant’s gaze.
“Nay, m’lord! She also left us a
map!”
B
alvenie Castle
, Scotland
The dowager’s gray eyes opened and
slowly focused on the half armor before moving upward to the anxious face of
the tall, red-haired man standing by her bed.
“Has Catherine Percy arrived?”
“Nay, Mother. Not yet.”
“You will look after that young
woman, John. You
will
honor our promise to protect her.”
“Of course! You know the messenger
brought word that she is safe and en route. There is nothing more that needs to
be done.”
The old woman coughed weakly and,
lifting a frail hand, waved off the attentions of the young woman gliding
around the bed. The invalid’s eyes never left the warrior’s face, and the
attendant, her niece Susan, stepped back and picked up a piece of needlework,
settling once again onto the stool beside the great curtained bed.
“Your bride, then! I assume she is
here?”
He shook his head. “Nay, Mother.
Ellen is still two days ride away, at least.”
“Then why are you here? To watch me
die?”
A hint of a smile tugged at the
corner of the warrior’s mouth, but faded quickly. “If I recall correctly, you
sent for me.”
“Hmmph! I do not know why I should
have!” the woman grumbled feebly. “But then, I’ve no more than a handful of
breaths left in this wasted, old carcass. Maybe I simply thought you’d see fit
to grant me my dying wish.”
Quietly, he took her bony hands in
his powerful grip. “You’ll live, Mother. You’ll live to see us wed. In fact--”
“I do not give a thistle puff to
see a wedding.” Lady Anne Stewart’s eyes moved and rested on her niece’s face
as the young woman quietly stitched away at her work. If only Susan had been
more like the other women--the court ladies or better yet, the bonny little
fools who used any excuse to come to Balvenie Castle and fawn over her son,
fighting for his attention.
Just then, Susan’s eyes lifted and
met hers. Whether the young woman glimpsed a hint of regret or perhaps
disappointment in the dowager’s face, Lady Anne didn’t know, but her niece rose
quickly to her feet, flushing crimson, and with a polite curtsy stepped out of
the bedchamber. Mother and son were left alone.
The dowager let out a heavy
breath. “I’ve forsaken all my other dreams, John. All I care about now is for
you to bring me your wife--full in the belly with an heir.”
“These things are not done
overnight.”
For the flash of a moment the
sickly woman’s eyes sharpened. “That’s exactly when ‘tis done. And I’ve seen enough mistresses of yours hanging about the gates to know you are an expert in
the matter.”
The warrior bit back his words as
he released her hands.
“Do something useful. Prop me up a
wee bit.”
So John Stewart--earl of Athol,
cousin to James V of Scotland, and laird of nearly all from Elgin to
Huntly--pushed his great brand and his dirk behind him and gently lifted the
tiny woman into a sitting position.
Lady Anne Stewart’s expression was
one of intense pain. As she settled against the pillows, her keen eyes studied
her son’s weary face.“They tell me you’ve been tearing up the countryside
looking for cattle raiders.”
“Aye. And when I get them, I’ll
hang them all from the nearest tree that’ll hold the blackguards’ weight.”
“Clever lads, I take it.” The
dowager’s brow furrowed as she gave another weak cough. “The same as before?”
“The same,” Athol growled.
The dowager knew that for weeks her
son had been scouring the glens and the rugged mountain terrain for the
raiders. “There is an easier way to stop these men.”
His patronizing glance was
fleeting, but too open to go unnoticed.
“I do not know that anything but a
noose or the edge of a sword that will convince these mongrel dogs.”
“I know, you think me a doddering
old fool. But I have the answer. All you have to do...is...ask...”
Athol sat down on the edge of the
bed as a spell of coughing shook the old woman’s frame. A moment went by as she
appeared to struggle for breath.
“Very well, I am asking,” he said
when she’d settled again. “Give me your advice.”
She looked at him sternly, a
glimmer of satisfaction in her gray eyes. “I tell you, John, it cannot be too
soon for you to marry. You need a bairn to succeed you. That’ll be the end to
all your troubles.”
“I’ve agreed, Mother. I know you’ve
been impatient to see me settled. The plans are set and--”
“Plans...plans...” Her words gave
way to another wrenching cough. “I had plans too. I brought Susan up here with
the plan of seeing you two wed. If you would have done as I--”
“Mother!”
There was warning in his tone, she
knew. And they had been through this discussion months ago. “Well, what you say
is not good enough. What good are plans when it comes to the troubles of your
people? Nay! I tell you...”
Her words trailed off, and the
laird turned to the window, where the sound of shouting rose from the
rain-swept courtyard below. In an instant, the shouting could be heard below
stairs. Striding across the floor, he yanked open the door of the chamber in
time to see his thin, gloomy-faced old steward breathlessly mounting the top
step down the corridor.
“M’lord!” the steward gasped, his
face crimson from the exertion and the news. “M’lord, they’ve struck the farm
at Muckle Long Brae.”
The earl’s face darkened ominously.
“Were any of our people hurt?”
“Nay.” The steward lowered his
voice with a glance at the dowager, who was peering from the bed. “But the filthy dogs burned your new barn there.”